One Last Bow
by MinusTheBearAndCageTheElephant
Summary: The Doctor has just saved Gallifrey and he is filled with a new hope. Everything is looking up until something he thought he had left behind forever returns to haunt him. The Doctor is more human than he likes to admit. Lots of cute, fluffy, Whouffle as well. SPOILERS for anything past Day Of The Doctor. CAUTION Trigger Warnings.
1. The Long Way Home

**Hi everyone. Just a quick note here. This does contain spoilers for Day of the Doctor. So if you haven't watched it, don't read it. Some of the text is taken directly from the end of the episode in order to make it easier to place when the events in the story are happening. This is only for this chapter, just to give everyone an idea of when this takes place. The rest of the chapters are all original. If something is quoted from an episode, it is in italics. Anything I added is in regular font. **

_Anyway, I don't own Doctor Who or any of it's affiliated characters. I own nothing. Nothing at all. So now that we've got that covered, enjoy reading. :) (This is my first fic, so any criticisms will be helpful, but please don't be too mean. Also, I did spellcheck this, but I am only human so if you spot a mistake, let me know and I am happy to fix it.) I'm going to try to update every other day but real life does tend to get in the way so I can't make any promises. Please leave a review if you have time, you have no idea how exciting it is to get feedback!_

_"I don't suppose we'll ever know if we actually succeeded. But at worst, we failed doing the right thing, as opposed to succeeding in doing the wrong." The War Doctor spoke slowly, a slight tremor in his hands. _

_Clara turned to him, a look upon her face that was a mixture of sadness and humor. _

_"Life and soul, you are." She gave a him a tiny, sympathetic smile. _

_"What is it actually called?" The Tenth Doctor stepped closer to the painting, peering through his glasses._

_The Eleventh Doctor cleared his throat and tilted his head to the side. "Well, there's some debate. Either **No More** or **Gallifrey Falls.**"_

_"Not very encouraging." The War Doctor interjected. _

_"How did it get here?" The Tenth Doctor asked, turning to study the painting._

_"No idea." The Eleventh Doctor spoke quietly, and removed his glasses._

_"There's always something we don't know, isn't there?" The Tenth Doctor sighed and raised his cup to his lips._

_"Well I should certainly hope so." The War doctor said as he rose. _

_The Eleventh Doctor bent his head to hide a smile as he and the Tenth Doctor turned._

_"Well, gentlemen, it has been an honour," glancing at the Eleventh Doctor, "and a privilege." He folded his hands behind his back and looks to the Tenth Doctor._

_"Likewise." The Tenth Doctor gives him a nod and a smile._

_"Doctor." The Eleventh Doctor does the same._

_"And if I grow to be half the man that you are," The War Doctor turned to Clara, "Clara Oswald, I shall be very happy indeed."_

_The Tenth and Eleventh doctors turned and shook their heads at each other._

_"That's right. Aim high." Clara rises from her seat and gives the War Doctor a hug and a kiss on the cheek. _

_His smile fades. After a pause, "I won't remember this, will I?" He turns to look at the others._

_Hesitantly, the Eleventh Doctor answered. "The timestreams are out of sync. You can't retain it, no."_

_The War Doctor's eyes became sad, his thoughts heavy. "So I won't remember that I tried to save Gallifrey, rather than burn it."_

_The Tenth and Eleventh Doctors are silent, they don't answer, but they fidget uncomfortably. Their silence has given the War Doctor the answer. _

_"And I'll have to live with that." His voice broke and he paused a moment to collect himself. He looked up and took a deep breath. "But for now, for this moment," He straightened his shoulders and began to smile hopefully, "I am The Doctor again. Thank you."_

_The three doctors shared a smile. "Which one is mine?" The War Doctor looks towards the TARDIS's, a concerned look on his face. The other doctor's smiles are quickly replaced with a look of panic as they look towards the TARDIS's. The War Doctor laughed and put his hands in his pockets as he walked towards his TARDIS. The doctors smiled as he opened the door to his TARDIS. He closed the door and they watched as he disappears._

_The Tenth Doctor looked at his other self quizzically and took off his glasses. _

_"I won't remember either so you might as well tell me."_

_The Eleventh Doctor sighed, "Tell you what?"_

_"Where it is we're going that you don't want to talk about." _

_The Eleventh Doctor thought for a moment and looked him in the eye. "I saw Trenzalore, where we're buried. We die in battle among millions."_

_"That's not how it's supposed to be."_

_"That's how the story ends. Nothing we can do about it." He shook his head fearfully and looked the Tenth Doctor in the eye. "Trenzalore is where you're going." _

_"Oh, never say nothing." The Tenth Doctor lightheartedly replied. The Eleventh Doctor smiled and laughed. "Anyway, good to know my future is in safe hands. Keep a tight hold on it Clara"_

_"Mm. On it." Clara stood and the Tenth Doctor kissed her hand. The Tenth Doctor walked slowly to his TARDIS. _

_"Trenzalore. We need a new destination because... I don't wanna go." He stepped into his TARDIS and closed the door. _

_"He always says that." The Eleventh Doctor said fondly. _

After a moments hesitation, Clara walked into the Tenth Doctor's TARDIS. The console room was empty, but Clara heard something, a strange, wheezing, noise. She followed the noise until she came to a plain wooden door left slightly ajar. Tentatively she knocked. She stepped inside and saw an empty room. No furniture, the only things in the room were pictures, hundreds and thousands of pictures, pictures of people, plastered on the walls and the ceiling, the floor is covered in scrawled black letters. She looked around, and in the furthest corner she saw the Doctor. Crumpled against the wall, his nearly silent sobs made his whole body shake. Clara slowly walked over to him, sat down, and put her hand on his arm. He looked up, surprised, and quickly tried to wipe away the tears from his face.

"Clara, what, he clears his throat, "What are you doing in here?"

She gave him a small, sad smile. "Who are they?" She gestured at the thousands of pictures on the walls.

The Doctor gave her a sad stare as he looked at her with those huge brown eyes. "It's everyone, it's the pictures or the names of everyone I've ever lost, hurt, or killed. Everyone who was hurt because of me. It's everyone." His voice broke on the word everyone and the sobs again sent his body into spasms. Clara looked around the room. She saw pictures in the very center of the floor, in a circle. A blonde girl smiling at the camera. One of the pictures even had the Doctor in it, Him and the girl. She was lifted up ever so slightly off the ground, her head thrown back and a huge smile on her face. In the center of the circle a name written in shaky black letters. "Rose" She knew about Rose, she had seen her when she was inside the Doctor's time line. And with the recollection of Rose, she also remembered what this Doctor had done after he lost her. She took his hand in hers and looked into his wet eyes.

"Doctor, I'm so sorry. I know how much you loved her." A moment's hesitation. "I know what you did when you lost her."

He looked at her and then cleared his throat, smiled "I don't know what you mean."

She looked into his eyes. He yanked his arm away and stood up, wiping tears out of his eyes.

"Did he tell you? Did he tell you it was a miracle? Did he tell you I shouldn't even be here right now? That I had given up?! Did he tell you that I still wish no one had found me!? DID HE TELL YOU THAT?!" He was screamed, fists clenched, his body stiff. "There were billions of people on Gallifrey. Billions of children, babies. I'm not going to know that I tried to save them and I'm going to have to live with that for another 500 years! Everyday I'm going to torture myself because I've killed them! Because i'll deserve it!" He punched the wall next to him, tears streaming down his face.

"You need to leave." He grabbed Clara's hand and pulled her up.

She took his hand in hers again and whispered into his ear. "I know what you want to do, what you'll do tonight, I've seen it." She pulled him closer and gave him a hug. His body shook with rage and sadness. Her lips brushed against his ear, feather-light as she whispered. "It doesn't make you bad, it doesn't mean you're worthless. It doesn't change the way I see you. You don't have to, you don't have to do that. I know you're scared, scared and sad and so lonely. And why shouldn't you be? You've been given a burden that no one should have to bear. You've got an impossible weight on your shoulders and your going to tell yourself you need to do it alone. But you don't need to do that. You don't have to be alone. You have so many people in so many universes that love you. So many people that would give everything for you. You are not alone. Don't be alone tonight. OK? Promise me you won't be alone tonight."

He pulled her in closer, and his eyes welled with tears. He held her for a long time, his tears soaking her hair. He knew perfectly well what he wanted to do, what he was going to do as soon as she left

"Clara! Clara! Where are you? We need to get out of here before the paradox of more than one of me being here tears a hole in the universe! Clara!" She heard her doctor calling through the halls.

"Don't be alone Doctor. OK? Promise me."

He kissed her on the cheek. "I promise." He felt guilty for lying. She hugged him again and walked out of the TARDIS, closing the door behind her.

The TARDIS dematerialized, and and he leaned up against the console. Clara had forgotten one key detail, he wasn't going to remember any of this. He wondered if promises still counted as promises when you couldn't remember them. Yes, he decided. They count. He set his TARDIS to fly over Wilf's hill. Maybe he would be there, maybe he wouldn't. Who was he kidding? He would fly over Wilf's hill, and he would be there, because he always was. Maybe give him a wave and a big smile. Then he would fly into the vortex, park the TARDIS, and he would go back to the room. He placed his hand lovingly on the TARDIS console. "You'll take care of me, right Old Girl?"

"What took you so long?" The Eleventh Doctor looked at her strangely.

"Your TARDIS happened, you know the grumpy old cow never really liked me. She decided it would be funny to get me lost in her corridors."

"Well how do you expect her to like you when you call her things like that?"

Clara silently apologized to the TARDIS, hoping she understood.

_The Doctor walked slowly toward the painting, and a small sigh escaped his lips._

_"Do you need a moment alone with your painting?" She asked quietly_

_"How did you know?" He smiled at her._

_"Those big sad eyes." She walked over to him and gave him a kiss on the cheek, her hand lingering. "I always know." She walked towards the TARDIS, then turned abruptly. "Oh, and by the way, there was an old man looking for you. I think it was the curator." She paused at the door and the Doctor gave her a thumbs up as she stepped inside._

_Alone with his thoughts he sat and studied the painting. _

_"I could be a curator." he spoke quietly to himself. "I'd be great at curating. I'd be the Great Curator." He laughed to himself. "I could retire, and do that. I could retire and be the curator of this place." He smiled._

_"You know, I really think you might." A new voice broke into his thoughts and he turned. He saw the face of the man who had spoken. He stared, stood up and looked at the old man. Confusion and wonder churning through his mind. He smiled._

_"I never forget a face."_

_"I know you don't. And in years to come you might find yourself revisiting a few. But just the old favorites, eh?"_

_The Doctor smiled, then he winked, he shared a secret with this old man. _

_The Curator gestured towards the painting. "You were curious about this painting, I think? I acquired it in remarkable circumstances. What do you make of the title?"_

_Well, which title? There's two. **No More**, and **Gallifrey Falls**._

_"No you see, that's where everybody's wrong. It's all one title." The Curator leaned in closely. "**Gallifrey Falls No More**. Now, what would you think that means, eh?" _

_The Doctor looked astonished. "That Gallifrey didn't fall." A smile burst across his face. His eyes lost their haunted look and his shoulders straightened. "It worked? It's still out there?"_

_"I'm only a humble curator. I'm sure I wouldn't know."_

_"Then where is it?"_

_"Where is it, indeed. Lost!" He brought his finger to his lips. "Shh! Perhaps, things do get lost you know. And now, you must excuse me. Oh, you have a lot to do."_

_The Doctor looked like a young child given the task of opening presents. A huge smile spread across his face. "Do I? Is that what I'm supposed to do now? Go looking for Gallifrey?"_

_"That's entirely up to you. Your choice, eh? I can only tell you what I would do. If I were you... Oh, if I were you." They both chuckle. "Perhaps I was you, of course. Or perhaps you are me. Congratulations."_

_"Thank you very much."_

_"Or perhaps it doesn't matter either way. Who knows?" The Curator bit down on the edge of his finger. "Who," moving up to touch the side of his nose, "Knows."_

_They smiled at each other one last time, and the curator walked out of the room. The Doctor turned once more to look at the painting, a boyish smile on his face, and his eyes full of hope._

_(Voice-Over)_

_Clara sometimes asks me if I dream. "Course I dream." I tell her. "Everybody dreams." "But what do you dream about?" She'll ask. "The same thing everybody dreams about." I tell her. "I dream about where I'm going." She always laughs at that. "But you're not going anywhere. You're just wandering about." That's not true, not anymore. I have a new destination. My journey is the same as yours. The same as anyone's. It's taken me so many years, so many lifetimes, but at last I know where I'm going. Where I have always been going. Home. The long way round._

_"Geronimo!"_


	2. Of Steel & Blood

**Once again, hi everyone. :) As always, thanks so much for taking the time to read, especially those who take time to review as well! I love reading your thoughts on the story!**

**Anyway, same disclaimer as the last chapter. I do not own Doctor Who, The BBC, or any of it's affiliated characters. Enjoy and please leave a review! :) **

**Warning: Potential Self-Harm Triggers**

Clara woke to a hand gingerly touching her face. She was soaked in sweat and her sheets were tangled around her feet. Her heartbeat was driving her mad, she could feel it in her ears, the tips of her fingers, her toes. She panicked, twisting her body to escape the feather light specters that seemed to taunt her waking moments. She could still feel the sharp tools the Daleks had used on her, still here their heartless voices in her head.

"Clara? Clara! You're alright, you're OK, just you and me and the TARDIS." The Doctor wrapped his arms around her.

"I'm human! Please, I'm human! I am not a Dalek!" She sobbed and screamed, arms thrashing

"Clara? Focus. Focus on me, alright." He touched her face again, gently. "You were crying in your sleep, screaming. Heard you all the way from the Med Bay. But, never mind that, your awake now, safe and sound."

The Doctor helped Clara sit up, her heartbeat still drumming out of control. He enveloped her in a bear hug, and she buried her face in his chest. Her eyes started leaking tears. The Doctor rubbed her back. She shuddered, not awake enough to be calm but awake enough to know where she was.

"Do you want to talk about it?" His hands automatically went to her hair and he ran his hands over her soft brown curls.

"Oswin." Clara spoke softly, her voice shaking.

He wrapped her even tighter in his hug.

Clara only cried harder.

He looked at her, tears running down her face, her tiny fists curled around the lapels of his jacket. He couldn't stand to see his impossible Clara hurting so badly.

"Clara, I can help you. I can take it away if you want.

"Do it, please." She scrunched her feet under her pajama shorts

He took her head in his hands and pressed his fingers to her temples.

"Just hang on, don't fight it." He let his mind wander through her memories, riding her bike and hugs from her mother. Hospitals and funerals and fights with her father. He found the one he was searching for, thoughts of pain and death and falling, falling forever, and not knowing where she was. He couldn't delete it, not exactly, more like a transfer. He took her memories of death into his own mind, and replaced them with dreams, dreams full of good things, places they had been and would go, things they had done, things they had yet to do.

He felt her body go limp in his arms. He held her for a moment, appreciating the way his heart beat faster when she snuggled into him. He smiled and placed her back under her blankets, carefully straightening the tangled sheets. He pulled the duvet up under her chin and he gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead. She smiled in her sleep, the lines on her face smoothing out. He sat for just a moment on the edge of her bed, at his Impossible Girl. He took one final look at her sleeping form and he left the room.

He headed down the hallway to the library, he sat in his favorite spot, a overstuffed green chair tucked in a corner behind some bookshelves. He went there went he was avoiding sleep, when he needed to think. He stretched his long limbs and settled into the chair, fingers steepled under his chin. He blinked and was assaulted by images of flames. He was surrounded by flames, he could feel smoke in his lungs, the smell of burning hair, his skin blistering in the heat. He felt panic, panic and fear and a tiny bit of acceptance, a sense that this was inevitable.

A scream ripped out of his throat, but it was not his voice. He saw hands in front of him, he could feel the flesh melting from his bones, but they were not his hands. He knew those hands, they were delicate hands. Hands that had been twined in the lapels of his jacket less than ten minutes ago. He could feel her fright, he felt the pain of the burns, the searing smoke inside her lungs. He was watching her die, he was dying with her. Just one more time he had failed to save her.

He was falling, falling through the air and the darkness. He felt like he was being torn in pieces, shredded into atoms. Through it all, the fear and the pain and the emptiness, he was lonely. An overwhelming sense of loneliness, of being lost with no chance of being found again. He was in his time stream, he was Clara. This is what she had felt. Tears ran down his face and he focused on the one clear thought in his head.

For My Doctor, I will do anything.

His eyes flew open, no wonder she had begged him to take her dreams.

He had had his share of nightmares, 1,000 years of bad memories would do that to a person, that's why he didn't sleep. But this was one of the most frightening ones, not because it was realistic, not the pain he could feel, but because he was feeling it through the mind of a young girl, who had no hope of being saved, no hope of a future. A girl who had just gotten engaged, a girl who had just started her new job that very day. A girl who, even being terrified, had just accepted that this was how it ended, her saving The Doctor. Who had only one thought on her mind the thousands of time she gave her life for his. For her Doctor, she would do anything. And he was just a man who couldn't even see her.

He stood up, suddenly, and he paced the room, trying to rid his mind of the images of Clara being burned alive. How could he have let her do this? Thousands of her dying, always. His mind wandered, full of heavy thoughts. Hard, dark, thoughts, coming from place that he hadn't seen since he met Clara. A horrible place that he had hoped never to see again. His pacing increased. He couldn't do that again, but he would. He let his mind go blank, his feet betrayed him and they took him down the twisting corridors to a familiar room. He was hoping the TARDIS would help him, hide the room. He sent a silent plea that he wouldn't find his destination. 13 steps down the left corridor, 416 steps straight, and 200 steps to the right and the only door in the corridor. A plain wooden door. With trembling hands he reached for the knob, tears clouded his eyes and he shrunk back, hesitating. He didn't want to do this, he couldn't, but he would. He always did.

He shuddered, and he opened the door. He slipped through the crack, quickly, guiltily. He leaned against the closed door with his hands over his face. He sunk down to the floor, lifting his head to look at the pictures plastered to the walls, the floor, the ceiling. The names scrawled in angry black ink. He glanced at the picture of him and Rose. _"You think you're so impressive." I am so impressive!"_ one of Amy and Rory and River and him, taken just moments before the angels struck. _"Your girlfriend isn't more important than he whole universe." "She is to me!"_ _"Raggedy Man, goodbye." _Donna. _"The rest of my life, traveling in the TARDIS. The Doctor Donna. No, Oh my God. I can't go back. Don't make me go back! Please no!"_ And in front of him, two pictures, one of Oswin, the echo that had saved him from the Daleks. He had found that one on the passenger list of the starship _Alaska_. He remembered hearing the Dalek sob when she remembered she wasn't human. How broken she had sounded when she told him to run. _"Run you clever boy, and remember."_ Clara as a Victorian governess, who had saved him from the Great Intelligence. Clara with her constant flirting._ "Eyes front soldier." "My eyes are always front!" "Mine aren't."_ The way she one side of her mouth quirked up when she smiled. He had failed them. Failed them all.

He ran his hands through his hair and he started to shake, his back heaving, silent gasps making his throat ache. He reached his hand up the door frame, and he found the small silver blade he had stashed there over a year ago. He had been strong, so strong. He had promised River. She had seen him, and he promised. But River was dead. Long dead. River and him at the Singing Towers of Darillium. _"You, me, handcuffs. Must it always end this way?" _One more picture to add to the wall. One more person he hadn't saved. One more person whose blood was on his hands.

He took off his coat, one step closer. Don't. Don't. He unbuttoned his shirt. One more. He looked at his arms, at the neat lines cross-crossing the pale flesh of his arms, some a faded white, deeper ones still an unhealed pale pink. He saw the marks on his rib cage, his fingers feeling the raised lines. He sighed, and he picked up the blade in his hand. He could stop, he could still walk away. He won't. He touched a finger to the edge of the blade. He hesitated, then pressed the blade to his arm, making quick slashes, not looking at what he was doing, not thinking, just letting that part of him take over. He wanted to stop, he willed himself to stop. He knew he wouldn't. Tears ran down his face, he couldn't believe what he had just done. An entire year, down the drain.

He threw the blade across the room. He stood shakily, took his coat and shirt of the ground. He stared at the rivulets of blood running down his arms and his torso. They were shredded, six inch ribbons of flesh hanging off his arms. He opened the door and walked, someplace, anyplace. He knew the routine. His routine, his walk of shame.

He ended up at a dead end corridor, a single door leading to a bathroom. He stepped inside, and leaned on the sink. He took a cloth and washed most of the blood from his hands. He pulled his shirt off, not caring about the small pools of blood that had soaked through. He found himself moving by force of habit, cleaning, stitching and bandaging what needed to be cleaned, stitched, or bandaged. He'd gotten quite good at stitching after he lost Amy and Rory. That was necessary, Amy wasn't there to hold him, to tell him everything would be ok. Rory wasn't there to stitch him, to remind him carefully that he needed to let these cuts heal before he did it again. He slumped on the floor, tears still streaming. He threw his coat and shirt into a pile and threw his shoes at the wall. There was nothing. He was nothing. He stared, glassy-eyed and calm, at nothing in particular. Just calm and fog and tears.


	3. Aftermath & Catacombs

**OK, 160 views? That is amazing, thanks so much guys! That just makes me so happy! Anyway, read and enjoy and if you have time drop a review! :) **

**As always, I do not own the BBC, any of its shows or its affiliated characters. And, as much as I would love to take some of these characters away until their creator *cough* (MOFFAT) *cough* learns to take care of them better, I can't. **

**Warning: Potential abuse and self harm triggers. Nothing horrible, just letting you know to be safe.**

"Doctor!"

The Doctor shot upright at the sound of Clara's yell.

"Clara? Are you OK?" He struggled to stand up with his brain still not awake yet. He was panicking. "CLARA!"

"Doctor? When are you coming out of the bathroom?" The TARDIS is being a COW and hiding mine." Her words carried through the door and The Doctor could almost see her out there yelling at the TARDIS. He leaned against the wall in relief. He caught his reflection in the mirror, he had reopened some of the cuts when he had jumped up

"I'll be just a minute." He glanced around the room spotting his ruined shirt on the floor. He couldn't wear that outside. He balled his shirt up and pulled his jacket on. He crossed his arms to keep it closed and he poked his head out the door.

"Doctor, you feeling alight? You look rubbish." She touched his face in concern. He looked like he'd had a rough night.

"Course I'm fine, I'm always fine." He stooped and gave her a quick kiss on the forehead before ducking out of the bathroom.

"Doctor?"

He turned quickly, pulling the edges of his coat closer together. "Yes Clara?"

She walked slowly towards him and reached her arms around his neck. She saw him flinch and felt just a tiny twinge of hurt, that he was still so nervous around her. He'd been tiptoeing around her ever since Trenzalore, like she was a dream, and if he got too close she would break.

"Clara..." He stiffened, stared straight ahead.

Her hands moved to the front of his throat before lingering for a few seconds. She smoothed the lapels of his jacket. "You forgot your bow tie on the sink." Clara gave him a sweet smile. "Cheer up, Chin Boy." She stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear.  
>"I know when you're sad, remember?"<p>

He gave her a sad smile. She watched him walk away.

"I always know."

Clara ducked into the bathroom again. She turned on the tap and ran her hands under the water and jumped back in surprise when the water turned pink. She turned the water off and stared at the blood on her fingertips. She glanced at the sink again and saw a smear of blood on the tap. She looked closely at her hands, but she didn't see any cuts or scratches on her hands or arms. She looked into the mirror and when the realization hit her her eyes welled with tears. She took a cloth and wiped down the sink. Suddenly, it made sense, his odd location, his strange behavior this morning. The way he seemed to stiffen when she got close to him. So he had started again. Silly of her to think she could stop him with one intervention that he probably wouldn't remember.

She lowered her head into her hands, her face flushed with something she couldn't quite understand. She was confused. Why hadn't he told her? She had been inside his time line, knew things about him. She knew his name. She knew things about him even he didn't know. She pulled herself together. This was his struggle, not hers, and she would be there for him when he was ready. She put a smile on her face, grabbed the Doctor's shoes, which had been left in an ignominious heap on the floor. She left the room with a look of determination. She wouldn't let this happen again. Not when she could help him. She wouldn't let him hurt himself again.

The Doctor walked quickly to his room, he couldn't risk Clara getting a glimpse under his coat. She had already come to close. He already knew he was weak, she didn't need to find that out too. He scrubbed his hands through his hair, ignoring the sting on his arms when he moved them. He caught a glimpse in the mirror and he laughed. Clara had tied his bow tie, but she had tied it crooked and high up on his neck. He pulled it off and put it lovingly in the wardrobe. He felt sluggish, his every movement produced small twinges of pain. A constant, stinging, memory of what he had done last night, and a relentless warning of the demons that would come again after dark.

He threw his coat into a corner of the room, dumped his ruined shirt into the incinerator, reached to do the same for his shoes, then found he wasn't wearing any. He sunk to the floor and closed his eyes. Maybe he would just lock himself away for the rest of today. Maybe for a few days. He could tell Clara he wasn't feeling well and drop her off at home. No, she wouldn't fall for that. And even if she did she wouldn't leave him sick. She would stubbornly insist on staying and waiting on him hand and foot. No, that idea was no good.

"Doctor? You left your shoes in the bathroom." Clara tapped lightly on the door. She poked her head through the door, as The Doctor quickly jumped up and sprang behind the wardrobe door.

"Just leave them there OK?"

"Doctor? Are you alright?"

"Clara, I, I haven't got clothes on. You said a lack of clothing made you uncomfortable."

"Right, um, I'll just pop off then. Here are your shoes." Her face flushed. She set the shoes down and quickly closed the door.

He stepped out from behind the door, laughing at how easily Clara got embarrassed. Some of the fog inside his head lifted. He quickly pulled on a clean shirt and tucked it into his trousers, pulled his braces up and took a fresh purple bow tie out of the wardrobe. He tied it and pulled on a clean jacket. He walked over to his shoes and pulled them on, and ran a comb through his hair. It was getting on the longish side, he would have to have Clara cut it. He was starting to feel a bit like a girl. He looked into a mirror and admired the affect. Clara said his fashion sense was rubbish. He didn't believe her. He made a face in the mirror. The mirror made a face back at him.

"Oi! Don't you make that face at me!" The reflection changed to a different face.

"I suppose that's what I get for buying a mirror from a magic shop." He muttered to himself. He shook his finger at the glass, laughing. See if I ever go there again!"

Maybe he could take Clara to see the birth of a star. Or maybe the Parisian catacombs right after they were build. Oh, he loved a good catacomb. There were so many possibilities, the diamond waterfall discovered on Pluto in the year 2,500. It was a new day, there were adventures to be had, people to meet, danger to escape, fezzes to be found! He smiled to himself as he walked out the door.

Clara leaned against the console impatiently. How long did it take a Timelord to get dressed? She idly plucked a banana from a crevice in the console and took a bite.

"Clara! Please tell me you did not just take a bite out of that banana!?" The Doctor ran into the console room and grabbed Clara's head and quickly soniced her.

"Why? Am I gonna grow a tail?" Clara spoke lightly and quirked an eyebrow.

"No, a second head." The Doctor said this matter-of-factly and continued sonicing her.

"A second head? Doctor!" He looked At Clara and noticed the terror in her eyes.

"Relax Clara. I'm kidding." His face shifted from a somber expression to a gleeful smile. "You're fine. That banana is just a banana. Excellent banana. Always bring a banana to a party." He flipped his sonic into the air and caught it.

Clara looked shocked for a moment, her panic fading into mock anger. "You're gonna pay for that one chin boy!" she said as she lightly punched him in the arm.

A hiss of pain escaped through his teeth before her could stop it as he clutched his arm.

"I'm sorry, Doctor, are you OK?" Clara quickly leaned over to look at his injured arm. He tucked his arm back by his side and looked down at Clara's confused face. Quickly he tried to think up a good lie.

"I'm fine, I just burnt my arm fixing some thermo couplings last night. Funny story, actually got trapped inside the TARDIS once doing that." He put his other arm around Clara's shoulders and gave her a gentle hug. "Where should we go to today?" He said, quickly changing the subject. He ran around the console flipping levers and switches."I know a great place to get coffee and scones! How do you feel about catacombs?" He looked at her expectantly.

"Doctor."

"What is it Clara?"

"Your hand." She spoke softly and took his hand, palm up, in hers. It was then he noticed the tiny trickle of blood on his wrist. She must have torn a stitch when she punched him.

"Let me see." She spoke tenderly and looked up at him, her chocolate eyes warm and soft.

"Clara," He didn't know what to do. She kept looking at him with those eyes. "Clara, I..." he froze, panicked, as she started unbuttoning his sleeve, "Clara stop." He swatted her hand away. "Doctor, let me see." She demanded stubbornly, moving again to his sleeve. He grabbed her wrists tightly. "Just let me see!"

"Doctor," her voice wobbled. "Let me see." She tried to pull her wrists free, but he tightened his grip. "Doctor, please..." she struggled against his grasp but that only made him hold her tighter. There was a soft _pop_ "Doctor," her voice cracked and and he saw tears in her eyes. "Please, your hurting me.." her voice trembled and a single tear spilled onto her cheek.

He immediately released her and she sprang away from him like he was hot to the touch.

"Clara? I'm sorry I didn't mean..." He he reached out to her and she flinched. Not much, just a tiny unconscious twitch. He dropped his hand as he realized what he had done. He looked at her, his Impossible Girl, backed up to the railing, fear and hurt in her eyes, cradling her left arm. Guilt flooded his brain. He had hurt her, his Clara. He backed away, lowering his eyes. "Clara, i'm so sorry."

She looked at him, and he saw her wrist was bent at an impossible angle. He cringed. "Clara, I didn't mean to..." His voice faltered.

"I know you didn't." She spoke softly, still in the corner. "I know you wouldn't do that on purpose." She took a few steps toward him. Hesitantly, she took his hand in hers and pressed it to her cheek. "I know you didn't mean it." Stiffly, he hugged her, careful not to bump her arm, still held close to her body.

"Can I see?" He asked, gently moving her injured arm into the light. Her wrist was bent to the side, and he could see finger shaped bruises starting to form on her arms. Another wave of guilt washed over him. He had hurt her. The girl who had died a thousand times for him and he had hurt her.

"Hold still." He looked at Clara and gently squeezed her hand before turning his attention to her wrist. A golden glow seeped from his hands into hers, the pain disappearing. He took her hands in his.

"Clara, can you forgive me?" He looked into her eyes and quickly looked away. He couldn't bear seeing the wariness in her eyes. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his chest. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around her, waiting for her to stiffen at his touch. She didn't. She hugged him tightly for a full minute before pulling away. She smiled, weak, wobbly, but a smile none the less.

"I think you were saying something about catacombs?" She gestured hopefully toward the console. "I love a good catacomb." She lied.


	4. The Wanderings Of Fire-Breathing Dragons

**OK, first off, 373 views. I could not be any happier! Second, this chapter is a little shorter. It's mainly a filler chapter. I'm going to update tomorrow for sure and maybe again later today if if can. Enjoy and please review! **

As per usual, I don't own the BBC, Doctor Who, or any of it's affiliated characters.

"Come on, run!" Clara glanced back over her shoulder and saw The Doctor, not running, but standing, waving his sonic screwdriver in circles. "Doctor, come on! This is the part were we do the running!" She ran back to him, grabbed him by the hand and pulled

"But Clara, there are dragons here! Real, live, dragons!"

"Yeah, real, live, FIRE-BREATHING, dragons! Dragons with short tempers and long claws and sharp teeth, and we've just disturbed their nests. Hungry dragons that want to eat us!" She pulled at his hand again and reluctantly he started running.

"Now you know why I like catacombs so much! Never know what your going to find!"

Clara shot him a glare. It wasn't his fault they had overshot Paris and ended up on a planet that actually was a catacomb. Now that was cool. Clara had seemed quite impressed. At least until they had fallen through what they thought was a rock. They had fallen into an enormous egg, and plunged into some sort of sticky viscous fluid. And even better yet the egg had a creature inside, a creature the size of Clara. And then Clara had screamed, and all Hell had broken loose. The tunnels were illuminated with a sudden burst of flames, and that's when they noticed the dragons, who had woken at Clara's scream. And that of course was why they were running. He made a mental note to visit this planet again without Clara, maybe while she slept.

Suddenly they were inside the TARDIS. They leaned against the door, red-faced and panting. They could hear the roars of angry dragons outside. He noticed Clara was still holding onto his hand, and he smiled to himself. She must have forgiven him for that morning. She plucked at her skirt with one hand, grimacing at the squelching sound the fabric made. She took both hands and started wringing out her hair, and he immediately missed the warmth of her hand in his.

"I'm going to go wash this off OK?" She smiled over her shoulder and walked away. He felt his hearts skip a beat. He shook his head and wandered off to find a bathroom. He pulled his bow tie off, and smiled when he saw it wasn't wet. His shoulders had been out of the goo, but Clara hadn't had any such luck. When she fell, she had gone completely under. He'd had to hold her up by her waist to keep her head up. He laughed when he recalled the look on her face when he'd pulled her up, spluttering and flailing and covered in goop. He finally found what he thought might be a bathroom and he opened the door. It was a bathroom, but it was occupied. He caught a glimpse of Clara's midsection as she pulled her dress over her head. He quickly backed up and closed the door

He turned, flustered and walked the opposite direction, the image of what he had just seen burned into his mind. He saw the curve of her hip, the way her shoulder blades stuck out, the slight concave of her stomach. He stopped in the middle of the corridor, there had been a scar on her stomach. A massive, silvery scar that stretched from her left shoulder to her right hip. He wondered what could have caused it. It was too jagged to have been a surgical scar, and 21st century humans didn't have and surgeries that would require an incision like that anyway. He wracked his brain. Maybe she had done it to herself? He quickly dismissed the thought, it was the wrong angle to be self inflicted. He felt a flood of anger in his chest. Someone else must have done it to her.

He found himself at a different bathroom, and this time he knocked. He stepped inside and quickly shed his clothing, anger still boiling in his stomach. He stood under the stream of water, ignoring the sting from his arms. He would find out what had happened. But he couldn't ask her, she'd want to know where he had seen it. He stepped out of the stream and dried off. He opened the wardrobe that had appeared and found among a few other things, a fresh bow tie. He dressed and set out to find Clara.

He wandered through the corridors, his thoughts hiding somewhere in the dark recesses of his mind. He walked around a corner and found himself colliding with Clara. She let out a small "oof" and stumbled backwards. He quickly grabbed her shoulders to steady her.

"Sorry, didn't see you there." She giggled.

"Quite alright Clara, I was just looking for you." He wondered suspiciously if their collision had been quite so accidental as it seemed. He suspected the TARDIS had twisted the corridors a bit. He noticed Clara had found some clothes, albeit a little big. She was nearly drowning in her red cardigan, her hands swallowed by the sleeves.

"You were looking for me?"She looked up at him expectantly.

"Yes, um, I just wanted to know if you had any requests for dinner." He fumbled with the words, he was terrible at lying

"No, if we stop off someplace we'll just end up running again. I'm just about done for the day I think." She smiled apologetically.

"Quite alright. I've got a recipe you'll love anyway." He smiled and bounced off to the kitchen

She smiled after him and headed to her room. She flopped onto the bed and thought of her half-formed plan. She knew The Doctor didn't sleep, or at least, not much. She'd once asked him what he did while she slept. He'd merely gestured around the room and said simply, "I wander." She'd taken that as a sign to change the subject

When she was 15, she'd stayed at home for a week by herself. The days were fun, she would come home and watch telly and practice souffles and read. But the nighttime... She couldn't sleep. She wandered the halls, every creak and groan of the house making her heart beat just a little faster. She'd ended up locking herself in her room and crying in her closet. She'd felt so alone and it had been horrible. She could only imagine what it was like for him, night after night in those endless empty corridors. She made up her mind. He wouldn't be alone tonight.


	5. If I Must Break To Save You, So Be It

**OK, so another super short chapter, and I'm sorry for that. I really do want to start some plot development, but there are just a few pieces that didn't seem to fit into a longer chapter. I think the next chapter will be a better length. Anyway, thanks for the follows/favorites and the reviews! Thanks so much! :)**

**I do not own the BBC, any of it's shows, or affiliated characters. **

Clara lay in her bed, counting to herself. She would give it ten more minutes. She changed into her pyjamas, a blue crop top and shorts. Normally she slept in her underwear, but that wouldn't do for tonight. She brushed her hair and teeth, still counting. Five minutes. She crawled into her bed and carefully tangled the sheets around her legs. Four. She threw the blanket of the bed and laid down flat. She turned her head back and forth on the pillow to mess up her hair. She took a deep breath. Three minutes. She thought. She pulled up memories of her echoes, as many as she could. She let them wash over her, her vision going blurry as a tear rolled down her cheek. Her head hurt and her eyes stung. She shook.

10 seconds.

5

0

She hesitated, for just a moment. What she was about to do was terrible and manipulative, but she couldn't let him spend another night alone, especially after what had happened this morning. It was enough. She screamed. She screamed as loudly as she could and waited a moment until she heard running footsteps outside her door and she screamed again. She heard The Doctor open the door and he sat gently down on the bed. He put his arms around her and pulled her close to his chest. She opened her eyes, and a genuine sob escaped her throat. Tears flowed down her face. She wrapped her arms around him and he slowly stroked her hair.

"It's alright Clara, I've got you. I've got you." He whispered. He snapped his fingers and the light came on.

She sniffled and dug her fingers into his jacket.

"Will you stay with me?"

"Clara..."

"Please? I don't want to be alone."

He sighed, and nodded. He scooted back against the wall and pulled Clara into his chest. She leaned into him and wrapped her hands in his lapels. He rested his chin lightly on the top of her head. He caught a faint trace of vanilla, maybe lotion or shampoo. He could feel her beginning to relax, the violent sobs that had racked her chest had subsisted to the occasional hiccup.

"I'm sorry Clara."

"You haven't got anything to be sorry for Doctor."

"It's my fault, the nightmares. If you hadn't jumped into my time stream, if I had stopped you, you wouldn't be having these dreams. You wouldn't have died so many times, you wouldn't..."

"Doctor, if I wasn't having dreams about them, I would be having dreams about something else." Her hand moved unconsciously to her abdomen. "I've had those dreams for years, and frankly, I prefer these dreams. At least in these dreams I know I'm protecting someone I love!" Her voice cracked.

The Doctor didn't know what to say, so he just hugged her tighter. His brain whirled at what she had just said. He wondered again about her scar. His brain seemed to freeze when he realized she'd said "love". He didn't quite understand. She was his best friend, and of course he'd known she cared for him, and he cared for her. But the way she'd said "love"... Maybe she felt something more. Maybe... Maybe he felt something more.

"Clara, I love you." The words fell out before he could think about them. He waited for a moment, but there was only silence. He looked at her face and he saw her eyes had closed, lashes still wet with tears. But the lines on her forehead had relaxed, and her mouth had just the faintest hint of a smile.

He laughed to himself and he kissed her head. He closed his eyes, thinking of Clara, his Impossible Girl. He was holding her, she was safe. He couldn't fix her, couldn't fix her dreams. But for now, he could hold her, he could keep her safe. He drifted asleep, really, truly asleep for the first time in months; comforted by her warmth, the weight of her head against his chest, and her small fists still clutching his jacket.


	6. Echoes Of Phantoms & Flashbacks

**I can't promise this will be the last short-ish chapter, but it will be the last short-ish chapter for a while. Thank you so much for all the views and follows!**

**I don't own Doctor Who or any of it's affiliated characters. I do own a Doctor Who calendar but that is as far as it goes**

**Warning: Potential suicide triggers.**

She could feel the music in her head, feel it thumping in her chest to the beat of her heart. Even her finger tips pulsed with the bass. Her head was spinning, and she wasn't sure if it was because of the music or the people or the smoke that filled the air. She saw so many vibrant faces in the crowd, all smiles and eyes and wild yells. A sea of people.

A movement caught her eye. A tall, skinny, man in a pinstripe suit, walking through the crowd, not dancing, not jumping and shouting, just walking. His face was drawn and she could see where tears had run down his face. His eyes held something else. Rage. She felt drawn to him, like a magnet. She pushed her way through the crowd, bodies slamming into her from all directions. Words on the inside of her eyelids, red letters, a sharp pain with it.

DOCTOR

SAVE THE DOCTOR

She followed him through the crowd and out into the street. The brisk air hit her face, the whole world sharp and clean. The moment passed and the world was once more in soft focus, a halo floating around the streetlights. She scurried after the man, not knowing how she knew him, not knowing why he was there; just knowing she had to save him. He was in danger and she had to save him.

She ran down the street, her feet pounding on the pavement. He just kept walking. She shouted

Nothing

She reached for his arm, but her fingers grasped only air. She stepped in front of him, but he walked right through her.

"_Hey!"_

She shouted. He stopped for a moment, looked around and continued walking. He turned down an alley, and she saw a blue police box. He put his hand on it's edge, was he talking to it? He opened it and stepped inside. Quietly she did the same, the door opening for her like magic. She looked around, it was smaller on the outside. In front of her was an enormous room, with dozens of corridors branching off in all directions. She expected to be shocked when she thought about it, but it seemed familiar, like she had been there before. She took a step forward, then another, carefully, afraid to break the silence.

She stepped towards the center of the room, a desk or a control panel of some kind. Console. Her mind supplied the word and she had no idea how she knew that. She walked around it, and froze when she heard sobs. Just around the corner was the man, tears running down his face. She moved hesitantly, afraid he would suddenly be able to see her. She kneeled down by him and gently kissed him on the forehead. He took a deep, shuddering breath. He took off his coat and folded it neatly before placing it on the floor next to him. He was calm, suddenly, utterly, calm. He unbuttoned his shirtsleeve and carefully rolled it above his elbow.

A flash went off inside her head, a realization of what he was doing. She grabbed his shoulders and shook him, desperate for any sign he saw her. She screamed until her throat was hoarse. She wrapped her arms around him, and buried her face in his chest, tears running down her cheeks. He stared numbly through her at the wall. Her heart twisted, she loved him. She didn't know him but she loved him.

His hand trembled, determination on his face. He reached up, feeling around the buttons and levers above him. His fingers wrapped around the first piece of sharp metal he found, a loose bit of paneling from the underside of the console. He ran his finger over the corner, a drop of blood bubbling up on his finger. He closed his eyes and pressed his arm up against the edge. He took a deep breath, and dragged it across his am. His arm fell limp onto the grating, blood spilling out and over onto the floor. He dropped his head to the side, eyes closed. He whispered something inaudible, and Clara leaned closer to his mouth,

"Rose..."

His breathing sped up and his chest heaved. Clara scrambled to her feet. She pulled off her cardigan and pressed it on his arm, hoping it wouldn't just fall through. His blood quickly soaked through the thin cloth, and she glanced desperately around for something else she could use. Her eyes settled on his tie. She reached over and untied it, her fingers stiff and sticky with dried blood. She tied it tightly around his arm, trying to remember anything she had learned about stopping bleeding. She pressed harder on her cardigan and prayed her tourniquet would work...

**I had actually uploaded this yesterday, but something went wrong with the formatting. Sorry about that. Thanks again to iloveonce for letting me know. **


	7. The Common Thread Of Parisian Nightmares

**I am so sorry about the wait guys. I've been having some computer troubles but it's all sorted now. ( As in I typed up a chapter and then accidentally deleted it.) But to show you just how sorry I am this is an longer chapter with lots of Whouffle. Enjoy and please drop a review if you have time! :)**

**As always, I don't own the BBC, Doctor Who, or any of it's affiliated characters. Of course, Aurélien is my creation, but I'm not making any money off him either, sooo..**

He woke with a start, hearing the slow, even breathing of another creature nearby, a gentle pressure on his chest. He opened his eyes and stared up at an unfamiliar ceiling. It took him a moment to remember, he was in Clara's room. It stood to reason then that the soft, warm weight nestled against his chest must be Clara. He relaxed and closed his eyes, not wanting to wake her. She let out a small sigh and nestled closer to his chest. He spent a few moments just enjoying the way it felt to be so close to another person. Close enough he could smell her scent, warm and vanilla. It made him want to hold her forever.

He absently opened his eyes and started stroking her hair. He gazed at her face, studying her features. How her delicate nose turned up just a bit at the end. Her lips soft and pink, the same as the blush on her cheeks. His eyes wandered absently, traveling gently down her body, until they settled upon her bare midriff. He could see the first three inches of her scar, just above her hipbone. He traced it lightly with his finger, feeling the raised edge carefully.

She twisted and he resumed petting her hair. How did she get it to be so soft? He watched as she poked her feet out from under the blankets, slowly stretching them into delicate points. She turned her head to look up at The Doctor, a smile slowly spreading across her face.

"You stayed." Her smile grew even wider. "You stayed with me."

"Of course I stayed with you! You asked me to." He said indignantly. "I'd do anything for you Clara." He added the last bit without thinking, his face turning a brilliant shade of crimson.

She looked at him for a moment, her eyes sparkling. She tilted her head up, her face only inches away from his.

"Do you mean that?" She asked.

"Of course I do," He smiled softly at her.

"Good." She lifted one hand up to his face, then suddenly she was kissing him. Her lips pressed against his. Her heart thumped hard in her chest. She could feel his arms flailing wildly, not sure what to do with them. Then he was kissing her back, one arm wrapped tightly around her waist, the other on the back of her head, pulling her closer. She was the one who finally broke the kiss, her need for oxygen making her dizzy.

The Doctor recovered from his shock and looked at Clara. Her face was flushed a delicate pink, her eyes lowered nervously. His mouth hung slightly open and his eyes were wide. He sat there for a moment, then started talking

"Doctor, I'm sorry, I just... I'm sorry." Clara interrupted him and he realized it must have been one of those times when he was talking but no sound came out.

He lifted her chin with his finger, and gently kissed her again. He held her carefully, big hands on the small of her back. Her hands slid up his chest to grip his lapels. His lips pressed against hers urgently. She rolled onto her back, pulling The Doctor on top of her. He broke away from her lips and pressed tiny kisses on her jaw, moving down to her neck. His fingers slid under her shirt, barely brushing her stomach. His thumb grazed her scar. She suddenly went ridged, her eyes wide; she pressed her hands against his chest, suddenly feeling like she couldn't breathe. He rolled off of her. His face dropped, and his eyes shone with guilt.

"Clara, are you alright?" He spoke gently, careful not to touch her except for her hand, which gripped his tightly. Her chest shook, and her breathing was ragged. She sat up and scooted over to The Doctor. He carefully wrapped her in his arms and pulled her close to him. Her breathing gradually slowed until she no longer felt sick.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He inquired carefully. She nodded, almost imperceptibly. "How did you get that scar?"

"What scar?" Her eyes widened, fearful.

"The one on your stomach."

"Oh, how did you know about it?" She looked slightly relived.

"I saw it last night, your shirt rode up." He looked down, avoiding her eyes.

She hesitated for a moment, then cleared her throat. "I was 15, right after my mum died. My first day back at school, a student set a bomb off in the gymnasium. I was standing near the bleachers and when it went off, I got hit. There was some metal piping being stored behind them and one of them flew into my stomach. It came out near my collarbone. Went right under my ribs, punctured my lung and my stomach. By some miracle it didn't kill me, but they couldn't just pull it out so they had to make a lot of smaller incisions to remove it all." She slowly reached for the bottom of her shirt and pulled it up over her head.

She lowered her arms and dropped her eyes shyly. He could see the scar in its entirety, where it started just under her right collarbone, dipped in between her breasts where it was hidden behind her bra, then out where it was visible again all the way down to her left hip bone. He looked closer and saw that the scar was not jagged as he had thought, but it was a dozen smaller scars all grouped into one longer one. He lifted his hand questioningly and she nodded. He carefully traced her scar, his touches feather light as though she were made of glass. His hands trembled as he thought of how badly if must have hurt her. She pulled her shirt back on. They sat silently for a moment, neither knowing what to say.

"Clara, can I ask you something?"

"Course."

"Why did you panic?" His voice was low and careful, as though he were afraid he might break her.

"What do you mean?"

"When I touched your scar just now, you were fine. When you were telling me about it, you were OK. But when I touched it accidentally, you went stiff. Was it something I did?" He held her face gently in his hands.

"Doctor, it wasn't your fault." Her voice trembled a bit. "You didn't do anything wrong." She looked as though she were about say something else him, but changed her mind.

He looked carefully into her eyes. "You would tell me if I did, right? I don't think I could live with myself if I hurt you again."

"Doctor, I told you, it wasn't your fault. I don't want to talk about it. Can you just drop it?"

He gently kissed her forehead. "Consider it forgotten." He smiled at her. "Now what do you want for breakfast?"

"I think I'm in the mood for scones." She grabbed his hand and pulled him to the console room. "Do you fancy a trip to the City of Love, Doctor?"

"As you wish." He said with a bow.

She smiled and he gave her his trademark goofy grin. He ran around the TARDIS console, flipping levers, pushing buttons, and occasionally hitting things with a mallet. The TARDIS landed with a groan and a wheeze, before settling down.

"Well then Clara, here we are!" He poked his head out of the door, getting ready to step out when Clara grabbed his arm.

"Oi, Chin Boy, we can't go out there like this." She gestured to her clothes. "I'm in my pyjamas. Pyjamas that would scandalize those people out there. Point me to the wardrobe."

He gestured vaguely to the left. Clara disappeared down the corridor, the popped her head back around.

"Doctor, what year is it?"

He looked out the door again, sniffed the air. "1920? No! 1927! Oh 1927 is great!" He ran back inside pumping his fists. "Just a few months ago Charles Lindbergh landed the Spirit of St. Louis here. Ever meet Charles? No, I suppose not, lovely man, if a bit eccentric. The first transatlantic telephone was installed about six months back, people in London are calling people in New York it's fantastic! Alfred Hitchcock has just released his first film, the Pleasure Garden, such a good movie though I don't care for the ending. Shame about poor Hugh. And oh, they've got great scones in 1927!" He pulled his head back inside the TARDIS, grabbed Clara's hand and swung her around. "And we can't forget Ben Bernie." He winked before grabbing her hand and twirling her around the console singing.

"Ooh, ain't she sweet. Well, see her walking down the street. Oh I ask you, very confidentially, ain't she sweet?"

Clara giggled as he dipped her, and kissed her soundly on the lips. She squealed as he raised her back up and sent her down the hallway with a gentle push on the small of her back.

She looked back at him and smiled before ducking back down the corridor.

"I'll just be a mo." She called over her shoulder.

He hopped over the railing and lifted one of the panels at the base of the console, still humming to himself. He dug around for a moment before grabbing a clean shirt and fresh jacket. He ran his fingers through his hair and pulled on his shirt. He winced as it brushed over the healing cuts on his arm. He tucked in his shirt and retied his bow tie. He climbed the steps and sat against the console. He would most likely be waiting for a while before Clara was ready.

He didn't understand why it took so long for her to just get dressed. Couldn't she just throw on any old clothes an … He froze mid thought as he heard footsteps on the floor above him. He stood and poked his head over the railing. He was stunned, his mouth fell open. Before him stood Clara, but it was Clara as he'd never seen her before.

She was wearing a dark red "Flapper" dress that made her eyes an even darker brown. Her chocolate curls had disappeared. Her short hair immediately drew his eyes to her red lipstick, making it impossible for him to look away from her lips. He climbed the steps, still trying to close his mouth.

"Clara, you look.."

She bit her lip. "Is it OK Doctor? I thought this is something like what they'd wear. Did I get it wrong?"

"No, Clara, you look... beautiful!" He smiled and clasped her hands. She smiled and gave him a quick, impulsive hug, then straightened his bow tie.

"But you cut your hair!" He was unable to hid his disappointment. He loved her long hair.

"No, I didn't." She laughed and reached under her hair and removed a clip and her hair was tumbling down her shoulders once more

"You should leave it down." He ran his fingers through her hair.

She grabbed his hand and stepped towards the doors, excitement making her eyes sparkle.

"Ready to see the Eiffel Tower, Doctor?" She pulled him out the door. They stepped onto the pavement, and he tripped over the lip of the door.

"Please tell me you aren't breaking out the drunk giraffe for this adventure." She said laughingly.

"Clara, I'll have you know I've been walking upright for nearly 1,200 years and I've managed just fine!" He said, looking indignant.

She nudged his shoulder playfully. "Sure you have Chin Boy. I happen to remember one particular regeneration caused by tripping and hitting your head on the console, but yeah, I'm sure you've got it well in hand."

He laughed at her and stretched his hand out, clasping her small hand in his. She smiled at him, her eyes sparkling as they walked hand in hand down the street. She leaned against his shoulder and hugged his arm, and for that moment he was truly happy. The Seine sparkled alongside the roadside, Eiffel tower rising high in the background.

Balanced carefully above the river was a small cafe, petite wire tables nestled around the building overlooking the water. They chose a table on the second floor near the edge. A low stone wall the only thing between them and a steep drop into the water.

He picked up a menu and waited for the translation to appear. He stared violently at the paper, why was it taking so long? Something must be wrong with the translation matrix. He held up the sonic and scanned for anything that could block the signal.

"Clara, do you speak French?"

"A bit." She perched on the edge of the railing.

"How much is a bit?"

"Bonjour, au revoir , et obtenir vos mains sur mon cul!"

"What?"

"That's 'Hello' 'Goodbye' and "Get your hands off my arse'." She smiled cheekily.

He laughed. "Had to use that last one often?"

"Oh, you'd be surprised." She winked at him.

He handed her the menu and she studied it for a moment.

"Doctor, the bottom half of this menu is in English. That's why it's not translating."

He picked up the menu huffily. "Of course, I knew that. But it should be translating anyway."

She giggled and sat down in one of the chairs. "Have you got any money, Doctor?"

He stared incredulously. "What for?"

"Cafes in Paris have this annoying habit of requiring money in exchange for food." She smiled at him and reached over to straighten his bow tie.

He lept to his feet and headed in the direction of the TARDIS. "I'll be right back. You stay here." He walked away, then looked back at her, making a 'stay' gesture. He scurried away and tripped over his feet twice before settling into a skip/walk that suited him. She put her head on her elbows and started at the Eiffel tower across the river. It was so beautiful up close. She mentally crossed it off her list of places to see. She let her mind go blank, completely absorbed in the beauty of the scene before her,

"Qu'est-ce qu'une si jolie jeune femme fait ici toute seule? Peut-être vous avez besoin d'un compagnon?"

Her head swiveled towards the handsome stranger slipping into the seat next to her. Her grabbed her hand and kissed it. She smiled politely, not understanding what he said. She pulled up everything she remembered from school, admittedly, not much. Why wasn't the TARDIS translating for her? She remembered The Doctor complaining about a matrix malfunction.

"Je espère que vous ne vous opposez pas que je me suis invité à vous rejoindre."

She continued smiling and he must have seen it as agreement, for he settled more comfortably into his chair, a smile lighting up his face.

"Je suis désolé , je ne parle pas beaucoup le français." She smiled regretfully. "Parlez-vous anglais?"

"But who has need of English? You speak wonderful French, ma chère. Your accent is impeccable."

She blushed, realizing the matrix must be functional again. That's probably what was keeping the Doctor, he must have been fiddling with it.

"My name is Aurélien. It is my pleasure to meet you." He smiled again.

"I'm Clara." She went to offer him her hand, but realized he was still holding it. "Aurélien, could I possibly have my hand back?" He released her hand, smiling sheepishly.

"My apologies Clara, I forget myself."

"It's quite alright, I've got a friend who does the same thing. Grabs on and just forgets to let go." She laughed gently.

"This friend of yours is wise. If you find you have someone worth holding on to, you should never let them go."

She smiled. "Funny, that's what he says."

"It's excellent advice." The Doctor smiled amicably and extended his hand. "I'm The Doctor."

He sat, but realized only as he tumbled to the ground there was no chair below him. He jumped off the ground, arms raised in defense.

"Clara, that chair seems to have developed a fault." He said, righting his bow tie.

"Doctor, there's no chair there." She held back a bubble of laughter.

"Well there's the fault then!"

"Doctor, this is Aurélien."She stood, gesturing to the man next to her. She took a step forward but caught her dress on the leg of her chair. She lost her balance and fell backwards over the wall. The Doctor lunged forward just as she tipped over the edge with a small scream. He leaned over the wall, fingers grasping the air where Clara had been just moments ago. He watched helplessly as she dropped into the water below. He had lost her again.


	8. The Past Unravels With A Single Tug

**Firstly, I'm so sorry, but this chapter does not resolve the cliffhanger. *Hides behind couch* Please don't hate me. This chapter is just to tide you over until I figure out what I want to do with the story. This is a collection of Clara's echoes' deaths. The last one is the second part of the flashback from chapter 6. **

**Secondly, I came across an amazing work on this site, 'The human's guide to Time Lord anatomy' or something to that effect. I will say only that this is my new headcannon, and the amount of research put into it astounds me. I recommend you check it out right now. It's under my favorited stories.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who or any of these characters nor do I make any profits from the publication of this story.**

She caught up to him just as he was disappearing into the TARDIS

_"Doctor?" She shouted, knowing that this time he would hear her._

_"Yes, what is it? What do you want?" He turned, guilty.  
>"Sorry, but you're about to make a very big mistake. Don't steal that one, steal this one." She leaned gently against the nearest TARDIS. "The navigation system's knackered, but you'll have much more fun." She watched as he ran inside and the TARDIS dematerialized. She squared her shoulders, The punishment for stealing a TARDIS was execution, death by the bind. She thought about running, then disregarded the notion. They would catch her anyway, they always caught her. She had made sure he had gotten the right TARDIS and that's all that mattered.<em>

_She didn't want to die. She wasn't ready to die. But she would._

_For her Doctor, she would do anything._

_She poked her head out of her cave when she heard the ruckus. In the twilight she saw a rival tribe dragging four people into a cave. They were strangers to her, but she knew them. The Doctor, Ian Chesterfield, Barbara Wright, and Susan. She took a deep breath and ran out of her cave, screaming at the top of her lungs. She knew she wouldn't get far, she didn't need to. She just needed to get close. She jumped and plunged her knife into a man's back. He would kill the Doctor if she didn't kill him. She pulled her knife out and shoved it under his ribs. He dropped and within moments the cavemen were pulling at her arms. She didn't fight back, there was no point. She had saved The Doctor and now she would die. They dragged her to the edge of the forest and pinned her to the ground in the sand. A spear lodged in her chest and blood dribbled out her mouth. She lay on the ground gasping, her head fell to the side. After so many hours, she heard the wheeze of the TARDIS and her eyes closed. _

_She was in pain, had been for hours. She didn't care._

_She would spend her last breath for her Doctor._

_For her Doctor, she would do anything._

_The flames were all she could see. The flames and the smoke and twisted metal. The Doctor's broken body buried under a pile of twisted metal. She ran over and pulled at the metal. Her tiny body tugged and the pile gave way with a groan and a wheeze. The charred smell of burning flesh hit her nostrils. She kneeled and cradled his head in her hands. The rest of the sisterhood were nearby, still fumbling around the wreckage. She stood and called to them. They didn't hear her over the sounds of burning metal. She took a step forward and fell through the wreck, a sharp, broken beam impaling her through her stomach. She screamed. The sisters heard her, and she saw them dragging his body away. He was safe now. She made a feeble effort to call out, but her breath was merely a wheeze. The edges of her vision went dark. She knew she was going to die. She accepted it. Her Doctor was safe._

_For her Doctor, she would do anything._

_She struggled into a vent, she heard Rose's shrieks of panic. She crawled forward and tugged at a clump of wires and through the vents she heard "Sun Filter Rising" She sighed in relief. She had saved Rose, thereby saving The Doctor. She shuddered to think what would happen if he lost Rose. She scooted back and heard the scuttling of the tiny metal spiders in the vents. She knew what that meant. She wouldn't leave this place alive. She sighed and pulled a small gun out of her dress pocket. She knew what those things did. She held the gun to her head, took a deep breath. She thought of her husband at home, married less than six months. She placed a hand gently on her stomach, her baby only the size of a blueberry. A single tear ran down her cheek. She steadied her hand. She didn't want to die. She didn't want to kill her child. She pulled the trigger._

_Her Doctor had been in danger, and for her Doctor, she would sacrifice everything._

_She huddled against a wall, shivering in her short skirt and tube top. It was far to cold for November. A man headed for her in the darkness, she stumbled around a corner, slipping in her stilettos. She pressed against the wall, making herself as small as she could. She couldn't take another customer tonight, the last one had roughed her up more than usual. Her hair had dirt in it and her mascara had run under her eyes. Bruises just starting to form on her wrists. She heard a shout and glass breaking and she cautiously peeked around the corner. In the darkness she saw a blonde and The Doctor. A man, one of her regulars had mistaken the blonde for her, and had felt her up. The Doctor had stepped in front of her menacingly. He didn't know the man was drunk. He didn't know he kept at least two loaded guns on him at all times. He didn't know that this man had a gang of at least three other guys at all times. She steeled herself and stepped perkily out of the shadows._

_"Oh Tom?! She called across the alley. She giggled cheekily and flounced over to him. She leaned against his arm and whispered in his ear. "You looking for me big boy?" She took his hands and pulled him up to the wall. She kissed him and he sloppily kissed her back. She made a 'shove off' gesture towards The Doctor and she prayed he would just disappear. He issued a muffled 'Hey!' as the girl pulled him out of the alley. She breathed a sigh of relief and pushed the man in front of her away. He hit her in the face. He was drunker than she thought. He shoved her violently against the wall and her head cracked against the bricks making her vision go dark and her ears ring. Hands pawed up and down her body. He left her laying on the pavement. It was November, it snowed. She shivered in the dark until she no longer felt cold. She was deliciously warm and incredibly sleepy. She had a three year old daughter, living with her Mum. She thought of her in her last moments. For her daughter she had done unthinkable things. For her Doctor she would do one more._

_For her Doctor, she would do anything._

_She had ridden in the ambulance with him. She held his hand and talked to him, words coming out of her mouth that she had no idea were there. She told him of his future, how he would see Rose again, how he would meet Donna and Martha and Her. How he would save so many people. She told him how he would save Gallifrey. She told him all he had to live for. She stayed by him in the hospital while he slept, talking of nothing and talking of everything. She stayed with him until his eyelids fluttered open. He had made his decision. He had decided to live. She kissed him on the forehead and slipped out of the hospital. She stepped out the doors and onto the street. A car hit her head on. She rolled over the car and felt her spine snap. She laid on the ground, gasping for air. She couldn't see, couldn't hear. It didn't matter. She had saved him. She had saved her Doctor. _

_She was the Impossible Girl. She has died a hundred thousand deaths in a hundred thousand ways; drowning and torture and falling, her body breaking into dozens of pieces. She has given all she had, she has sacrificed friends and family and herself. She has lost everything and everyone that mattered to her. Everyone except one. And it was worth it. Everything was worth it if she could save him. _

_For her Doctor, she would do anything._

"Take your own advice Doctor. She is worth holding onto. Hold on ton her and don't ever let her go"


End file.
